The Chronicles of Meril
by darkkrose
Summary: A LOTR fanfiction.


~ Chapter I ~

Rain was falling heavily, changing the green grassy fields and dells up ahead into mires, yet she had to move on. There was no shelter from it anyway, nor from the winds blowing with great fury towards her, no place to hide from the spies of Mordor roaming the fenny lands, save for the barren, isolated knolls and hillocks scattered here and there. Her best hope was to reach the borders of Lóthlorien by nightfall, yet the shadowy eaves of the forest were still far away, barely visible through the swirls of the downpour. She rode on, spurring her horse ever and anon and keeping him going forward through the mud at a swift and steady gait. Less than three miles further, she could tell by the blowing and wheezing of her mount that he was already struggling to manage the grueling pace. She was pushing him too hard, rushing him too fast, but it was not until a flash of movement caught the corner of her eye that she brought her run to a stumbling halt. The horse stopped so suddenly that she was nearly thrown over his head by the jerk. Nevertheless, she managed to keep herself in the saddle and tightened her grip on the reins. While struggling to catch her breath, she spun the horse around and around in tight circles, cautiously scanning her surroundings for any threats. There was nothing to be seen, yet she feared the worst.

Orcs had been on her trail too often for her liking as she journeyed all the way down from Athrad Iaur, despite the rare and brief halts she dared to make, and when all seemed too quiet and peaceful she wondered how long it would be before they will be chasing her again. She was already sick and tired of riding, day and night, with no rest, no camp, no fire, no proper meal, each hour of travel being reduced to the struggle of staying out of sight as much as the land allowed while the constant threat of being pursued by orcs and wargs hung heavy over her head. Needless to say, a reliable horse would have made the difference if she had founded herself caught in the open, but unfortunately, Shaggy was nothing like that. He was doing just fine for a workhorse with no proper gait training, that she could not deny, and in fact, she was genuinely grateful that he has proved himself capable to overcome the hardships of such a long and arduous journey, patiently enduring the exhausting hours under saddle and the lack of food and fresh, clean water. However, he had his fair share of mood swings and keeping him responsive and under control tried every shred of her patience, especially since any upwind breeze bringing the slightest scent of danger was all it took for the stubbornness of the compliant enough animal to surface. But that was not all. Shaggy seemed to be afraid of nearly everything that moved or made a sound, and sometimes he got frightened even of his own shadow if the sun happened to shine high in the sky and his shadow was cast where he could see it. Riding her own horse would have spared her a lot of trouble, but what was done was done, and luckily, she managed so far to elude all the great perils that had lied both before and behind her.

Beneath her, Shaggy trembled and snuffled fitfully with exhaustion, pawing the ground, his hooves thudding on the soft, damp soil. Foam flecked his mouth and she could wager his flanks would surely be streaked with sweat if it weren't for the rain washing it off his body. How could it have been otherwise when she herself was soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone? She ran her gloved fingers through his thick, tangled mane, patted his withers, and then dismounted. Marching afoot to rest her horse was the best she could do now, though the very thought was distressing. Some sort of expression between a wince and a grimace crossed her face at the tingling pain shot through her legs when her feet hit the ground. Her limbs felt sore and stiff, and she pitied herself as much as she pitied the poor animal who had been pushed past his limit, yet there was no time to waste. Holding the reins tightly, she took her chances and led Shaggy onwards, as fast as her unsteady legs would carry her. As the gloomy afternoon began to wane, the downpour that was likely to last through the night slowed to a mild rain and the wind slackened. They kept to a road that cut straight through the fields, eastwards, going up and down the hollows of the low rolling hills for some while. Then turning left, down a deep dell they fared and trode along it a short way. Somewhere beyond the grey clouds the sun must have set, for the dim light was nearly gone by when they climbed the far edge. There she stopped to catch her breath. She just needed a moment to rest. The night fell dark about them even as they started again, in a southerly direction. It was still raining, but the wind had shifted, now blowing cold from the north.

They barely got half a mile farther when Shaggy suddenly stopped in his tracks, his legs stiff, his ears pricked forward. 'What now? ' she wondered, halting startled, as the horse began whining uneasily and swaying his head back and forth. There has been no sign of orcs for a day and night now, and for all she knew she lost the warg riders hunting her some good miles back. They stayed on her trail as hounds on a fox since the morning she crossed the Ninglor and not without great effort she managed to get rid of them, or at least that's what she thought. But again, it was well known that orcs often pursued foes for many leagues into the plain. She started thinking that perhaps they did not break off the hunt after all and zigzagging her way across the wilderness rather than moving south to mislead them had been of no help. Or it could be that others were on her tracks. Travelling alone had both advantages and disadvantages, but this time she had to admit that the balance tipped somewhat toward the latter.

Truth be told, she set out from under a strong guard. Twelve of the Elven King's doughtiest warriors, the bravest of his braves, were to ride with her hither back to Lóthlorien, to ensure her safety on the road, defend and protect her of any harm at all costs. It was definitely not her idea of traveling in secret and long had she held out against it, yet to no avail. When it became plain that Thranduil will not change his mind, any attempt to talk him out of it arising debates without end, she gave in, comforted by the thought that at least she would not be forced to carry out the plan he first came up with. Rowing down the Anduin would have turned everyone into sitting ducks for the black-feathered arrows of the orcs holding the eastern bank. Journeying southwards by land seemed like the only reasonable option at the time, despite the great distance separating the Elves of the Woodland Realm from their kindred. It turned out to be even more perilous than she remembered. The Beornings who warded the Ford of Carrock were trustful allies of the elven folk, thus they had been provided safe passage across the river, and no disturbing events troubled them the next four days, as they went on. But on the fifth day of their march along the Anduin's western shore, as the sun sank below the horizon, and they readied to camp for the night, a large band of orcs came on them at unawares. They had been surrounded in no time, outnumbered by about six to one, maybe more, in what came to be a struggle for dear life. It was unlikely that they could withstand the onslaught for long, she just knew it, and wrestled with the urge to fight and see the end of it or flee. Then, almost as if reading her mind, Garaveldir had shouted for her to run, to get out of there. The next thing she knew, he was knocked to the ground, his throat slit, and she was riding away into the night as the battle raged behind her. She could only guess what fate they met. It may be that some found their safety in flight, though she hardly believed anyone would escape from such a fierce ambush. All those brave soldiers, in the fullness of their strength, must be lying dead in the dirt, slain by the broad-bladed swords of the orcs, so she could live, so she could carry out her task. Looking back on it now, she barely knew Garaveldir, barely knew them all; their names, their faces; next to nothing. Those people were complete strangers to her, though she has lived amongst them for centuries. She never even bothered to get to know them, yet now she often found herself thinking of them, digging feverishly deep down into her memories to snatch hold of something that would help her remember they once walked under the Sun. It was only in the days that followed that she had realized that the shadow of war was already spreading. The power of Barad-dûr was growing fast. If orcs indeed roamed freely throughout the Vales, by the clear light of day, no longer dull-witted, but bold and cunning, and in such large numbers she was given to see marching to and fro across the wastelands, then there was no doubt that the mountain passes were strongly guarded by the servants of Mordor, which meant the messengers Thranduil sent to Imladris stood little chance of overcoming Hithaeglir by Cirith Forn en Andrath.

She looked all around. Nothing. No sign of danger. As far as the eye could see there was only empty land. She tried to make Shaggy move, but he pulled back and kept on whining and tossing his head. 'Shaggy will serve you well, ' she mused inwardly for the umpteenth time since they had hit the road. Then, without warning, the horse reared. She let the reins slide through her hand, but she didn't let go and quickly stepped aside from the striking range of his forelegs flailing the air, knowing that yelling or pulling at him, or both, would only make it worse. The trick to calm him down that actually worked was to give him some lead. It worked with almost every horse. A distant ear-splitting howl rent the night right before Shaggy's hooves crashed back onto the ground. Awareness struck her and sent cold shivers down her spine. 'I feared as much,' she thought, recognizing the unmistakable sound of wargs. She listened intently. Another howl answered the first, closer now, shortly followed by a few more. Snorting and swishing his tail, Shaggy pawed the ground restlessly, and when she reached to grab his halter he shied sideways. 'Come on, you scaredy-cat,' she said softly, stepping towards him,' you don't want to become food for those foul creatures, do you?' Shaggy snorted at the sound of her voice and she nodded. 'That's right. We cannot linger here.' As she spoke, her hand reached up again, this time to caress his forehead, and he did not back away off her touch. He stood in place, still fearful, but trusting. She gently stroked the short fine hair between his eyes along his nose, then smoothed his ruffled mane. She could feel him flinch, as other howls started up, nearer. 'It's alright,' she mumbled in the same soothing tone, settling her left hand on his broad neck. 'It's alright. Everything will be fine after tonight, I promise.'

Shaggy whickered in response and nuzzled into her hand, rubbing his head against her shoulder, as if in apology. A half a smile crossed her lips. He never did that before. It always felt good to gain the trust of a horse, even if small. It made her think of her early years, when as a young elleth she would ask her father why her horse, a white mare she received from him as a gift, behaves badly and tries to throw her off, and he would reply with a straight face and a comforting hand placed on her shoulder that there are no bad horses, only bad riders. She sighed and pushed the memory back to the dim recesses of her mind. Her right hand grasped Shaggy's halter. 'Let's go, then.' The horse stood stubbornly a moment longer, before taking a reluctant step forward, then another, and another, dutifully walking beside her, as she led him, and the farther away they got, the howls grew fainter and fainter. The road they went slanted into a shallow, dry dale and lost itself within the mists rising up from its floor. On the far side loomed the eaves of the forest, like a wall swathed in a veil of silvery haze, a wide grey shadow against the dull night sky. A slight frown creased her forehead at the sight. 'The nets of the White Lady,' a small voice within her spoke up as if she needed some warning. She ignored it and forced herself to haste on, despite the lump forming in her throat. Something told her the Lady of the Golden Wood already knew she was coming and would become aware of her presence the moment she steps into the realm.

The closer they got, the clearer she could hear the endless rustle of leaves. Slowly the forest drew near. After more or less than half an hour's plodding along across the dale, they came at last beneath the great overhanging boughs of its outer trees. A pensive look settled on her face as she stopped and gazed in awe up the trunks standing tall before her, thin trailers of mists swirling about them. Her long unexpected journey was drawing to an end. She should have felt relieved, yet the thought brought with it a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her tired limbs go weak. On a night just like this, so long ago, she swore she would rather enter Morannon willingly than set foot in Lóthlorien again. If someone had told her early last month that she would be returning to the place poignantly dear to her heart, where her life really started and stopped one summer long ago, she would have called them deluded. Now that she was here, she suddenly wished herself hundreds of miles away. 'Well, this is your doing,' her conscience scolded her. Accepting that her own actions brought her back was much harder than she thought, and still not a good enough reason for her to stop cursing the day she spoke her mind to Thranduil. 'Don't you think I know that? 'she argued silently, thinking she would not be here if she had kept her mouth shut during that council meeting. The thought drown itself in the churning sea of memories filling her mind before she could push it away. Her heart started pounding loudly in her chest, in response to the countless images flashing through her mind unchecked, threatening to overwhelm her and she shook her head as if such a simple gesture would have the power to dispel them. The tidal wave of conflicting emotions that washed over her was overpowering. All her life's unanswered questions taunted her once more. A sigh escaped her lips, swallowed up by a sudden gust of wind that snatched her hood and blew it off her head, tearing through her long braided hair and sending loose dark locks flying in every direction. As she stood there motionless, reliving the past in her mind, cold raindrops pelting her face, she felt lost. Her grip tightened on Shaggy's halter. She leaned against his shoulder, her cheek pressed to his neck, and drew in a few deep, steadying breaths to get a hold on herself. Shaggy flicked an ear and huffed at her. The sound and his sidling broke her from her reverie. She could tell he was growing restless, by the way he shifted his weight between his front feet. Grimacing, she banished the distressing memories in the back of her mind, where they belonged, knowing they would surface anyway in her dreams. Recomposing herself, she brushed the damp tangled strands away from her face. She hesitated for a moment longer, before releasing Shaggy's halter. Then holding the reins, she placed a booted foot in the stirrup and swung herself up into the saddle. She pulled back her hood and nudged the horse into a gentle, quiet walk through the first rows of trees and into the forest.

It was pitch dark. Rain pattered the tree boughs overhead and the paths were muddy and slick. As they plodded along through the darkness, she forced herself to focus on the last remaining miles towards Caras Galadhon. The city was about three hours' ride away, maybe less, and she pondered whether to press on or find a place safe enough to stop and rest until daybreak. The first choice was more appealing, but somehow it felt wrong, and besides, one more night spent in the open air would not matter at all after being on the road for so long. Either way, she had to be careful. Lóthlorien was and always has been a very well protected realm. A realm of uneasy vigilance, some called it, and strangers had little hope of getting through the broad woodland valley without being spotted. Apart from the Wardens tirelessly patrolling the borders, many others scouted the land for trespassers with the fervour of a starving hawk searching for a rabbit, and there were quite a few outlook posts built high up in the trees from which both land and borders could be easily surveyed by keen elvish eyes. Though she needed no map to find the shortest way to the city, and knew the land by heart and most of its people, she wasn't eager to draw any unnecessary attention to herself. In fact, the last thing she wanted or needed was to bump into a scouting patrol. Such a seemingly chance meeting would most likely be uncomfortable and fraught with unpleasant consequences for everyone involved. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach only grew heavier at the thought and she found herself praying her presence would go unnoticed. 'Running a bit scared, are we? 'a mocking voice inside her head asked. She let the question go unanswered. Her conscience, however, did not back off. 'Who would have thought? Lady Meril, the mighty princess of bravery, terrified of a bunch of silvan elves! ' She breathed quietly and allowed the sudden rush of anger aroused by the stinging remark of the inner voice to course through her and be gone. Avoiding conflict could hardly be called cowardice. 'It is not conflict you're avoiding.' She sighed. Sometimes she wished her conscience were a real person, made of flesh and blood, so she could strangle it to death, thus silence it for good. Since that was impossible, she had to content herself with picturing the whole scene in her head. 'Would you just shut up for once?' she gasped inwardly, easing Shaggy around a fallen tree trunk blocking the way. The pesty voice gave an amused snort, then fell obediently silent.

Cold and wet, horse and rider trudged on, deeper and deeper into the forest, along paths less traveled that rose and fell gently across the wooded slopes, winding lazily in and out the maze of trees becoming thicker about them as they advanced. She kept track of twists and turns, constantly being aware of her surroundings, her senses on full alert. The path on which they were now was just wide enough for a horse to pass. It had already forked off several times and made many bends, and for no apparent reason, Shaggy tried to shy away from it twice since the last westward bend they rounded. The thought that someone might be following her started to seep into her mind. After all, it was an easy task for any scout to track her since she could not avoid leaving a trail. Resisting the urge to leave the path, she ignored the warning signs from her horse and forced him forward. They had not gone more than forty yards when the path split again, one part curving sharply to the left, while the other went nearly straight for some distance before it dropped into a hollow to the right. As they came closer to the fork she noticed there were footprints all over the ground. She sidestepped Shaggy and leaned in the saddle, trying to get a better look. She could tell there were heavy boot prints on both paths, yet the left fork seemed to have the most. 'Orcs! ' Even as the grim thought crossed her mind, her breath caught. This was a troubling discovery. She had no memory of orcs ever getting so far within the realm, though it was not uncommon for them to pass beyond the forest-eaves. The tracks were fresh, unspoilt yet on the wet ground, and though she could not be sure of numbers, she would wager there were many trampling feet. She looked around nervously as she listened intently to the stealthy night-noises, but saw no other signs that any orcs would be near at hand and heard nothing to alarm her. One thing was certain: if the orcs still breathed they could be lurking anywhere in these woods and she was not willing to risk a battle.

She steered Shaggy toward the path on the right, all her thoughts fixed on finding a place to hide. Across the hollow they went and plunged into the gloom of the trees rushing down to meet them. The woods grew even thicker here. The pathways were no more than trampled tracks for animals, hardly visible because of the heavy undergrowth. But deep within this part of the forest, not too far from her direction of travel, there was a place where she could take refuge: a small glade, sheltered from both wind and view by a cluster of mellyrn. As far as she could recall, no dwellings were close by and patrols seldom went near it, and she had no reason to believe that things had changed over time. It was the safest place to spend the night. The only problem was getting there. Her view ahead soon became blocked almost entirely by the tangle of branches and leaves, leaving her no choice but to dismount and continue on foot. The going was slow. Fallen trees, protruding roots, thickets, brambles; everything around her seemed to bar her way. She found it hard to be noiseless in her movements and keep Shaggy in check at the same time. Every muscle and joint in her body screamed for rest, but she pushed herself to maintain her pace as she struggled on, tracing uneven paths through the densely packed trees. An hour, maybe, went by, though it seemed far longer, and then at length they came to the clearing, just when she felt she couldn't take another step. She breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. It was her first chance to rest in over five days.

These mellyrn were still young, yet their grey trunks were already of mighty girth and their crowns of many interwoven boughs overshadowed the ground and all the other trees. Their upright branches were strong enough to hold many telain. She tied the horse reins to a low hanging tree limb, then reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a wafer of lembas. It was as wet as everything else inside and turned to paste into her gloved fingers. 'Not much of a meal,' she thought bitterly, shoving a piece of it into her mouth, as she sat on the damp ground, her back against the tree trunk. She forced herself to ate it all, chewing slowly every bite before she swallowed, though it stuck to the roof of the mouth. She could feel the cold of the earthen floor seeping through her soaking-wet clothes now clinging to her like a second skin all the way into her bones. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, her hood covering her head. Her high riding boots were so heavy with mud that her legs felt like they had weights tied to them. She had no strength left to clean them now. Her right hand reached for the dagger fastened to the leather belt strapped around her waist. She doubted she would have need of it, yet all the same, the dagger felt reassuring in her grip. She raised her gaze to the shady boughs above. In the dark, every outstretched branch seemed to poke at her accusing fingers. She felt a pang of guilt wrenching at her heart and let her eyes close, a calm resignation on her face. She just sat there and listened. All was mostly quiet. Only the sound of the drizzling rain upon leaves and Shaggy's heavy breathing nearby disturbed the night. She was so exhausted that she dozed off, unaware of doing so. Despite herself, her mind started conjuring images of him. They were as vivid as always and flashed before her mind's eye too quickly for her to dispel any of them. What if... She stopped mid-thought. The thought and the intrusive memories ebbed away as she fell into a deep slumber.


End file.
